I'm on my knees (begging you to hate me)
by ultrafreakyfangirl
Summary: Fig/Caputo. Read Author's Note for detailed summary.


_**Author's Note: Okay so Fig/Caputo are adorable as hell. Season 7 was so good to them. I wanted to delve into their relationship and these characters. I was nervous writing them because I wasn't sure if I could do them justice. We'll see, I guess. I want to write more for them, because there is such a limited fanbase for these two on this forum. (And even less on A03 actually). And season 7 gave us so much to work with. For now though, here's what came to my head when I first thought about fic for these two. When did it change for them, and become something more (also PSA that scene in S6 where Caputo calls her his girlfriend - you are so my girlfriend! - is life. It's so domestic and adorable and I can't with it). Takes place I want to say somewhere in season 6 after the karaoke scene. **_

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It was different this time, somehow. Well, it had been _different_ for awhile now, if that really was the word he was going with. She would come onto him with less of an affront, and speaking of coming, _that_ was_ different_ too.

She was quiet, and she would bite her lip, she never used to do that, not past the point of turning him on, or revving to go, no, this, _this_ was different.

_Different._ He was really starting to hate that word. There was no telling if it was_ bad_ or if it was _good_, people would use it as a way to shrug something off. _Just different._

Fuck that. Fuck them. Fuck _her. _He was happy to relinquish control over to her sexually, it was easier, she knew what she liked, and he didn't have to pretend that he did.

But now, here he was, his gaze every so often getting distracted by the softly bouncing form of her chest, while he held her hips, gently indenting them with the pads of his thumbs, the right one inching closer, almost teasingly, towards her inner thigh, _closer_, in between her legs, _closer,_ and then he was there, pressing, circling, and in response, she pushed herself against him, vibrating and wet,_ oh, so fucking wet. _

Her moans were softer, less like she was throwing herself into them; it was like she was really _feeling _them, _feeling herself, feeling him,_ and it made the whole thing, so much less volatile.

They weren't fucking anymore; he wasn't sure when it changed, when it started to be something else, something _different_, but right now, they were _having sex._

Normal, uninterrupted sex, where the only words exchanged were _slow down, harder, that's it, right_ _there,_ and every so often, her heavy exhales, drenched with sweat and satisfaction made him groan, and to his surprise, she reacted, arching her back into his touch.

His sounds, heady and gruff, hadn't turned her on before, if anything, she'd often grumble at him to _shut up_, but of course he couldn't do that, and so she would just be louder to drown him out. Sometimes he thought the sound of her own fucking voice turned her on, _typical Fig_, and he probably wasn't wrong, but this, this time, was _different._

She was subdued, she sounded smaller, delicate, her breaths a little jagged, her words, _his name,_ stuttered, and he only had one word for it. _Natalie. _Her moans were small, blood hot, waves breaking up his ocean of groans and grunts and curse words, and he strained to hear them, hear his name spill from her mouth, and when he did, _holy shit, _it worked him like her mouth around his dick could only ever dream to.

_Joe,_ _Jesus, __**Joe**__, __**fuck me,**__ yes, yes,__** yes**__ –_ he felt her taut around him and with one more thrust that was it. It was as unceremonious as everything else had been, and she started to laugh, actually _fucking laugh_, as she collapsed against his chest, and he wondered for a minute if she was just too tired to move.

He knew that she liked her space afterwards. He almost asked if she wanted him to roll over, but something stopped him at the last second. It was this look in her eyes.

It wasn't the smog of arousal, he knew that one best, and it wasn't contempt, that one at second best. This was something else. It was brighter. It was shy, almost. Vulnerable. It was a _glimpse._ A glimpse of something he suddenly needed more of.

He fought the urge to take her chin in his palm and tilt her face to his. It felt too intimate.

Until she did it first. He felt her hand against the side of his neck, warm, clammy, _soft; _and then her fingertips were at the base of his throat, she breathed, slowly, and then they were under his chin, tipping it up, towards her.

"Joe…I – uh – that was good, right? I was a little off my game today, not really myself, I guess. I know that, so, uh, sorry if that – "

For some reason, that wasn't what he expected her to say, but still, he found himself interrupting her as if it had been. "No. No, it was great. Really great, actually. I – uh – "

He coughed a bit awkwardly. This had never been awkward before. The two of them were skilled in the art of vulgarity, so what the hell was this?

"I finished, didn't I? And correct me if I'm wrong, but it didn't seem like you had any trouble, either."

She smirked but it felt different. All of it. That line. Her expression. _Different_. He was beginning to hate that word._ Loathe_ it. There seemed to be some weird, underlying meaning to all of it that neither of them were yet attuned to, and it was pissing him the fuck off. Since when were his feelings in this equation? When were hers?

"Fuck." She swore again. Kissed his lips chaste and quick, like a parent kissing their kid. "That wasn't what I wanted to say."

He knew it.

"I'm just a fucking chicken shit. Fuck. Ugh. Okay."

She blew her hair from off of her forehead, almost like she was trying to distract herself from saying whatever it is she _wanted_ to say to him. But now he really needed to know, so now was not the time for any _fucking_ dramatics.

He was going to tell her that, too, because when were they ever soft with each other, but what stopped him from falling into their habits before was stopping him again.

_That look. _

It came over her face less suddenly then it did that first time, as though it was more certain of itself, her mouth a subtle smile, her eyebrows raised an increment, her cheeks, still slick with exertion, were bruised a gentle crimson, and it may even be akin to _surprise._

For once, Natalie Figueroa was _surprising herself._ She'd always been one step ahead, but now, _wow,_ something must really be tripping her up.

"Here it goes."

Shit. Shit, okay, play it cool. It's probably something stupid. But he knew it wasn't. It was all too _different_ for stupid.

And suddenly, but also not so, because he had this weird inkling that this feeling of him _really __**not**__ wanting it to be something stupid_ has had a hold on him for awhile now.

He was too comfortable with it.

"I love you, Joe Caputo. As in, I think I'm _in love_ with you. _Ugh,_ barf. Excuse me while I go vomit. I can't believe I just said that."

He smiled. He gave her one of those shit-eating grins as he grabbed for her wrist when she attempted to subtly move from off of his chest to her side of the bed. _Her side._

"Nope. You are not going anywhere. Look at me."

She rolled her eyes, but obliged, nonetheless. Her heart wasn't in it, the mean girl, not this time. He stared at her, just stared at her in silence for what felt like the longest time but was probably only a minute.

Her curls were mussed and tangled all at once, thrown into flight by her own fingers, and his, pulling, twining, grabbing. Her face was free of makeup, bare, but still, carried with it that womanly beauty, and it wasn't an ageist thing so much as it was a confidence thing. She knew that she was _sexy as hell,_ and she boasted it. Her calves were sinewy but in that feminine way, and they allowed her to straddle him like a fucking champion. Her eyes were hazel in this light, almost green, and for a second, he wondered what it would have been like to know her when she was younger.

Not too much younger, but in her twenties, maybe. Full of that optimism this fucking system beat clean out of her. Full of hope, of joie de vivre, and twenty times sluttier as she is, now, no doubt.

Then she blinked and that urge he had was gone. He loved her for who she was now, not for who she may have been then.

He loved her. He loved her. Holy fucking shit. He loved her. He was in love with Natalie Figueroa. And it wasn't a bad thing. Fucking hell.

"I love you too, Natalie. I'm _in love _with you too."

She sucked in a breath as he stroked her cheek. "Doesn't that terrify you? Because it _fucking _terrifies me."

He chuckled. "Yeah, it does. But that doesn't mean I don't want to be feeling it any less."

She sighed. This time, she touched his face, and he felt her fingers roaming his stubble.

"Me neither. I _want_ to love you, and I _do,_ as I have since realized, but it's been so hard – not hard in a difficult way, but hard in a weird, twilight-zone, way. Loving you is the polar opposite of hating you. My emotions have to do this whole shift and adjust to this whole new normal, and with that comes responsibility. Loving you comes with responsibilities."

He stroked her face again, the back of his hand moving in rhythm against her skin. "Like what, baby? I thought loving me would be as easy as one, two, three."

She rolled her eyes, slapped his hand away, but then pulled it back to her and intertwined their fingers before it could get too far. Responsibility number one. "Shut up, dumbass.

"Seriously though. If I hate you, none of my actions have repercussions because as a general rule I don't give a flying shit about your feelings."

"Noted," he joked, kissing her knuckles.

"But if I love you, I do care. I care a lot. And I have to watch how I act, what I say, because, ugh, I actually care about you now, and you know, it's really a pain in the ass."

"That I'm so charming and dashingly handsome you couldn't help but fall in love with me?"

She shook her head but there was a smile there. She was going to let him have that one. "I just – it's all different now. And I'm scared I'm going to screw it up. As you know, my marriage didn't go _swimmingly_."

"First of all," Joe kissed the corner of her mouth. "We're not married. Secondly, your husband was gay. That couldn't be helped. At least, not by you. His assistant, well, he gladly lent a helping hand, if you know what I mean."

"Jesus Joe, fuck off," she scolded, and they were in familiar territory again, but then she kissed him in the same breath and the waters were murkier now, yet, they were clear too, clearer than they'd ever been. It was new. It was different.

_Different._ He was beginning to really like that word. Maybe he even _loves_ it.

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_**Author's Note: Please review! They are my motivation! They fuel me to write! :) Let me know if you want to read anything specific and I can try to make it work. :) **_


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